


i'll find shelter

by Cyrus



Series: Home [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Homesickness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrus/pseuds/Cyrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo sighs and sinks down next to Thorin again. </p><p>“Flowers don’t grow on gold and gemstones, Thorin.” </p><p>And no matter how much Thorin wishes they do, even the richest soil and the best seeds won’t change anything about that.</p><p> The Lonely Mountain is no place for creatures of the sun, plants and hobbits alike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll find shelter

The sun is already setting by the time he leaves Erebor through the main gates. The Lonely Mountain towers well above him, and he has to walk several lengths before he has evaded its shadow completely. 

The gateway carved into the surface of the mountain looks exactly as it has so many months ago, when Bilbo first caught glimpse of it, sitting in a boat gifted by the people of Laketown and heavy-hearted with thoughts of what lingered beneath the mountain. 

The dragon is dead now though, pierced by an arrow of Bard’s, and Bilbo finds that, when dipped in the light of the undergoing sun, the entrance to the Kingdom Under The Mountains looks a lot less sinister than it may have seemed to him once. 

Still, it is as if nothing has changed, as if Smaug still slept under a pile of gold beneath the mountain, the exterior not giving away the life that is bustling once again inside the halls and corridors of Erebor. 

Bilbo told Thorin this, and he replied that they would enhance the entrance and situate a handful of dwarven guards outside as soon as possible, but with the expenses done to rebuild the kingdom, Bilbo knows that it will be at least several more months before anything will be done about it.

Not that he cares; he is content as long as he can escape the occasionally suffocating mountain for a little fresh air. 

Hobbits are creatures of the sun, and despite living in holes in the ground, there is nothing more relaxing for a Hobbit of the Shire to retire in the garden whilst smoking a pipe and watching the sun go down. 

He misses the sun, but he’s doing fine with spending most of his time beneath the mountain now. It’s the little sacrifices he has to make.

Bilbo misses his garden, though. His roses would be in bloom by now, and his camellias too. It’s all he can think of when he aimlessly wanders the plains surrounding the Lonely Mountain. By now his garden will have withered and died, or Lobelia will have taken over Bag End and planted her own choice of horridly saturated foxgloves where once he would spend his afternoons reading in the sun.

And it’s not only his garden; he misses the hills and rivers of the Shire, tea with the Gamgee’s and even the little disputes with the Sackville-Bagginses-

He misses his home. 

During their journey, it was nowhere near as bad. Sure, he had craved for his bed and pantry back then, but it was bearable. Maybe he had seen the hills of the Shire in the abstract landscapes they had wandered through, the ponds of Hobbiton in the lakes they crossed.

But here in Erebor everything is different, more alien to Bilbo than anything had ever been.

It is strange, that this soft but ever-present sadness is worse than the bursts of hunger and homesickness he experienced during their adventure.

\--

Thorin finds him minutes later, sitting on a small, grassless hill, not too far away from the mountain. Bilbo likes to imagine that before the Desolation of the Dragon, trees and bushes would grow here.

Thorin settles down next to him quietly. It’s not unusual for the Dwarf to join him, although recently his visits have become fewer and far in between. 

They don’t talk for some time, both absorbing the sunset in silence. 

The sun paints the sky in shades of blue and red. Almost as in the Shire, Bilbo observes, maybe a bit melancholically. 

“I miss my garden,” he tells Thorin with a sigh. 

There’s no use in hiding his worries from Thorin. They’ve crossed that barrier long ago.

If anyone were to ask, Bilbo would tell them that Thorin is his dearest friend. Privately he wonders if ‘friends’ is the correct word to describe the bond they have formed since the reclamation of Erebor, tender at first, still testing out their boundaries after the disaster with the Arkenstone, their friendship only barely rekindled with the words that Thorin spoke to Bilbo on what they both believed to be his death bed. 

They’ve certainly come a long way since then.

Thorin furrows his brows, and stops drawing aimless shapes into the dirt next to him.  
“Do you want to start a garden here in Erebor?” he asks.

Bilbo almost laughs, but then stops himself. If anything, Thorin’s pride is still easily bruised, and he has to remind himself that it’s not the Dwarves’ fault that he doesn’t know a thing about gardening.

“It would hardly work,” Bilbo says and smiles anyway, “I don’t know about this part of the world, but at home in the Shire things don’t grow beneath the earth, with no sunlight and all.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you start a garden in Erebor,” Thorin responds and ah, judging from the expression on his face Bilbo has hurt his pride nonetheless, “I mean here,” he makes a wide gesture with his arms to indicate what he’s talking about.

“Here?” Bilbo frowns and looks around, really considering the land for the first time, despite having spent an hour here almost every day.

He gets up to have a better view of the plains, dried out and dead as they are, and thinks aloud “No that wouldn’t work at all.”

“And why not?”

Dwarves and their decided thick-headedness.

“Because,” And Bilbo punctuates every syllable as if he is talking to a child, “The Dragon left the soil terribly infertile and dead. Did you ever wonder why neither grass nor weeds grow here? Nothing can sprout here, and regardless if anything did, the Lonely Mountain’s shadow would smother it. And,” he adds, “Can you imagine an ancient Dwarven kingdom’s entrance flanked with roses and daisies?” Bilbo snorts at the idea. 

Thorin studies Bilbo for a while, his expression filled with the same softness that would make Bilbo cheeks heat up if it weren’t so cold outside. 

“Then I would have the best soil imported from the west, the Shire even, if you wished it, and I’d build you a small house south of here, in the sunlight, where your plants could flourish, if it would make you happy.”

Bilbo sighs and sinks down next to Thorin again. 

“Flowers don’t grow on gold and gemstones, Thorin.” 

And no matter how much Thorin wishes they do, even the richest soil and the best seeds won’t change anything about that.

The Lonely Mountain is no place for creatures of the sun, plants and hobbits alike.

They are silent for a while after that, as the sun dips behind the clouded silhouette of the Misty Mountains in the distance. 

“This is not about the garden at all, is it?” Thorin asks quietly as the last sunray glides away beneath their feet. 

Bilbo nods and they are quiet.

Soon the sun leaves a tent of stars above their heads, Elendil shining the brightest, and Bilbo rests his head on Thorin’s shoulder and Thorin wraps an arm around him.

If anyone were to ask, Bilbo would tell them that Thorin is his dearest friend.

“I can build you a house, if you want one.” Thorin’s voice is laced with humor. 

Bilbo smiles against Thorin’s shoulder. 

“What would your council say,” Bilbo replies tiredly, barely just stifling a yawn, “The King that spent all his kingdom’s gold on building a house for a Hobbit.” The idea is far too strange, even for Bilbo. 

“I would spend all the gold and gemstones of Erebor if it would only make you feel at home here.”

Oh, Bilbo thinks. What an absurd statement, especially coming from a Dwarf. And that changes the situation completely. 

Heat is coiling in his chest and he scoots away so he can face Thorin, the King’s crownless face half-hidden in the night. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Bilbo tells him, his voice is softer than he’d like it to be.

“Aye, ridiculous,” Thorin smiles bitterly, “that’s what Dwalin’s called me.”

The warmth in Bilbo’s chest swells until it almost hurts; yet it’s an oddly unsatisfying feeling.

He stares at Thorin although he can’t make out much of his features in the darkness, and for a brief moment wants to say what is on his mind, wants to stop the game of charades they’ve been carrying on for too long. 

Instead, he averts his gaze and scoots away.

“It’s getting cold. We should head back inside.”

“Aye,” Thorin repeats and his voice is much grimmer than Bilbo has bargained for.

Nevertheless, they remain siting.

“I miss the Shire, I really do,” Bilbo bursts out suddenly. Thorin needs to understand this time, understand why it’s not the garden that matters to him anymore. 

“That is home to me.” He feels Thorin tense next to him. 

“But I want to remain here,” he continues after a little pause, “Because my family lives here. I don’t know what I’d do without Fíli and Kíli’s antics, and Bombur’s cooking, and Bofur’s jokes, and everyone else. And you of course… you’re my closest…” he struggles for a word “…friend” he finishes lamely. “You see, the company is my family know, and home will not feel the same without them, no matter how hard I’d like it to be.” He smiles softly, “I don’t want a garden. I don’t need my home to feel happy, I need my friends and my family.” 

He doesn’t expect Thorin to reply, doesn’t expect him to turn to face him, silver streaks in his hair more pronounced in the starlight. 

“Am I that then, your closest friend?” He almost sounds disappointed.

The night hides the red that is spreading on Bilbo’s face despite the chill temperatures. 

“Yes- well,” he stammers.

Thorin face move closer to his own, their noses almost touching now. Bilbo can feel the King’s breath on his cheeks. 

“A close friend? Truly after everything that has happened, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo shakes his head slowly.

“No, for me you were always more.”

He’s said too much then and wants to scoot away, but a calloused hand on his jaw stops him. 

“Dwalin called me mad,” the King Under The Mountain tells him and gently turns his head so that they are facing each other, “And I believed him to be right,” he hesitates, “thinking your interests were… elsewhere.”

Bilbo frowns. 

“You’re ridiculous, Thorin Oakenshield.”

And then Thorin leans in to kiss him.

Their noses bump and Thorin’s lips hit just above Bilbo’s own.

“I’m going to have torches installed here first thing tomorrow,” Thorin growls and Bilbo wants to laugh, but Thorin’s mouth on his shuts him up. 

It’s been a long time for Bilbo, so they are hesitant at first, soft, until their desperation gets the better of them and their kisses grow faster and deeper as Bilbo winds his fingers through Thorin’s hair.

They break apart after a moment, catching their breath, and Bilbo rests his head on Thorin’s shoulder and Thorin wraps an arm around him again, as if nothing has happened.

“You know,” Bilbo says absent-mindedly as they gaze at the infinite constellations of stars pilled before them, “Not having a garden does have it’s advantages after all. There’s no weeds to pull and it’ll do wonders to my back.” 

Thorin’s laugh is a warm breath against his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay first fic here we go hahh ahah ha  
> Critique would be greatly appreciated.


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